There were big ones, small ones, leathery ones, and red ones, and none of them were mine.
Yes, what little innocent first-year me did was go to Wreck Beach. I was fully clothed. Unfortunately, the penises surrounding me were not. I would have preferred that the penises literally have little shirts on than see them. I mean come on man, nobody’s trynna see a dick.
Alas, there was still a sea of dongs to be seen. Before I could make my way to the far side of the beach, my retinas were assaulted by phalli. Though thankfully flaccid, the cocks were still too much for mine virgin eyes to bear. I’ll admit it, some dicks look alright. A young dong, such as mine, is naturally pleasing aesthetically.
Unfortunately, once you add some wrinkles, salt, and a fake tan line into the mix -- the resulting potpourri is suboptimal.
There were some titties, too -- but the joy they brought was fleeting. Keep in mind, the net girth of these weenies must’ve been at least four inches. The sheer mass of the collectivized dicks was a visual force to be reckoned with.
It was halfway through the onslaught that I realized that that was the solution: John Thomases living in harmony, in a commune. This is their home, I thought. They were where they were meant to be.
I whipped out mine. It was blue, because it was cold out. But it too was worthy of display.